


Who Tells Your Story?

by BlushingRojas



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Based of The World Needs You (You Don't Want It) by yaoi_yaoieverywhere, Bless my son Yuuri, For some reason I forgot to add French?, He left for a vacation but that's it, He's also fluent in English and Spanish and German and Italian, Multi, Multi! Lingual Yuuri, Original Female Characters - Freeform, Their names are Maria-Elena and Antonina, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, What Ifs?, Yuuri is a godfather!, Yuuri is fluent in Russian, Yuuri knows French too, Yuuri never permanently left Hasetsu, Yuuri never went pro, how could i forget that tag?, i love them, i love yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2018-12-21 16:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11948391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushingRojas/pseuds/BlushingRojas
Summary: The ice rink never became his life, instead, it became his safe-haven for when the taunts of his classmates became too much. A place where judgment did not reach unless you went pro. That was a few of the reasons he never pursued his short dream of becoming a professional skater; there was too much judgment from the viewers, too much scrutiny under the sharp eyes of each judge and his self-esteem too low to handle that certain weight.-Yuuri, with his life, never revolving ice skating as he once believed it would, instead finds himself helping around his family's onsen and pursuing an interest in learning new languages alongside a friend he made from the States.He'd never thought he would ever find the one, his other half that made him whole; the one that'd fill him with raging butterflies and a loud drumming heart whenever he'd hear their laugh.However, when the triplets upload his rendition of Stammi Vicino to the web is he in for a surprise alongside the thrill of his life that he'd thought he had lost when he gave up the world of ice and blades.CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN





	1. Giving Up and Starting Something New

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The World Needs You (You Don't Want It)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11902584) by [yaoi_yaoieverywhere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaoi_yaoieverywhere/pseuds/yaoi_yaoieverywhere). 



> I read this fucking masterpiece (The World Needs You (You Don't Want It) by yaoi_yaoieverywhere) and gave it a go of my own after a quickly asking the author for permission. This is my first time ever posting a story online and I hope you'll enjoy this as much I enjoyed writing it so far.
> 
> I guess warnings are fair? There are OCs in this, they helped Yuuri with his studies in different languages and so on. They'll appear every now and then again, but really since Yuuri doesn't have Phichit yet I though why no give him a friend? So while they are an integral part of Yuuri growing up they don't really get in the way? In all honesty they just kinda popped up and buckled up for this ride. My plan is for Victor to pop up soon ;)

When Yuuri was young and impressionable he came to a conclusion: he would never skate on the same ice as Victor Nikiforov, and he was alright with that. It’d happened while watching JGP, during Nikiforov’s second year of skating; with his gliding across the ice as if he were merely floating and the graceful movement of each arm, each elevated fingers, and each turn and twist of his jumps.

Yuuri continued to skate. Allowed himself to copy Nikiforov’s Free Skates or Skate Programs alongside Yuuko for fun, and pushed himself to be self taught in jumps. He, however, no longer wished with a burning passion to skate on the same ice as the long-haired Russian. Instead he allowed himself to glide across the ice after grueling days in school alongside Yuuko, and the occasional face of Nishigori-san, to unwind.

The ice rink never became his life, instead it became his safe-haven for when the taunts of his classmates became too much. A place where judgement did not reach unless you went pro. That was a few of the reasons he never pursued his short dream of becoming a professional skater; there was too much judgement from the viewers, too much scrutiny under the sharp eyes of each judge and his self-esteem too low to handle that certain weight.

He continued dancing under Minako-sensei’s watchful eye. She judged him, yes, but that judgement helped him improve. There was no added stress to be absolutely perfect, to be practically flawless, but a softer undertone of giddiness and merriment and a certain  _freedom_ to just dance alongside his sensei.

So when Yuuri’s life no longer revolved around the world of skating he turned to his studies, or more so,  _foreign_   _linguistic_ studies. At first it was English with the mandatory class he took. It was just so  _strange_ and breaking the rules down did nothing to help him with it. It was frustrating and hair-tearing and Yuuri absolutely loved it. He took extra classes during his breaks after timidly asking his parents for them, and during one of Hasetsu’s largest influx of tourism he shyly befriended an American-raised Argentinian who even after she left she kept in contact. Visiting every now and again she helped him leaps and bounds and beyond with his English along with pushing him into learning her Italian-accented Argentine Spanish.

Once she had wheedled his birthday from him and next he had known she sat in his family’s kitchen, sipping tea while softly conversing with his mother in the Japanese he’d taught her in, the small-town accented Hasetsu one.

“Yuuri-kun!” She’d smiled brightly when he’d dazedly stepped into the kitchen. Her wide hazel eyes lighting up. “Happy birthday!”

“Elena-chan.” Yuuri’s eyes watered and next he knew he’d been pulled in for strong gripped hug and an equally teary-faced Maria-Elena.

“Elena-chan decided to surprise you for your birthday,” his okaasan said once they broke apart and had given a hug of her own.

Mari nee-chan ruffled his hair once he settled on the chair beside hers, “Happy Birthday little bro.”

His otousan walked in, and in his arms was a…

Yuuri blinked.

In his otousan’s arms were a curly brown haired poodle with a large red bow tied around its neck.

Maria-Elena cooed when he tentatively held the small poodle, staring into its dark eyes and then laughing when it licked his nose and gave a happy yip. He turned to his parents and smiled grandly, his eyes misty for a second time that morning. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

“Anything for our little boy,” his otousan replied, smiling down at him while his okaasan sniffed as she told him to hold still as she snapped a quick shot.

“What will his name be?” Mari nee-chan asked him, and Yuuri contemplated that. Dark eyes and dark fur, happy yips and a wagging tale and no name that Yuuri came up with fell well with him. He helplessly turned to look at Maria-Elena, who in turn held her hands up.

“Don’t look at me, I’m the one who named their dog after a greek goddess.”

Yuuri looked down to the bundle of energy and soft fur, faintly recalling that Victor Nikiforov had a dog like this one. While he no longer worshiped the teenager as he once had, he had impacted his life on a large scale.

“Vicchan,” Yuuri tried the name; with it rolling of his tongue like water flowing down a stream did Yuuri chose it. “Vicchan. His name is Vicchan.”

For the rest of the day he and Maria-Elena met up with Yuuko and Nishigori-san at the rink, with Maria-Elena and Yuuko hitting it off nicely after a formal introduction.

“You’ve never told me about her!” Yuuko had complained.

“That’s alright,” Maria-Elena pulled Yuuko by the elbow, directing her towards the ice. Nishigori-san and himself quickly trailing behind the girls. “Gives us something to talk about,  _no_?”

“Of course!”

Later on, back in the onsen once he and Maria-Elena parted way with Yuuko and Nishigori-san, did Yuuri receive his present from his friend.

They sat on his bed, the unwrapped present sitting on his lap while Maria-Elena contently threaded her fingers through Vicchan’s fur as she leaned against the wall.

“This is too much,” Yuuri breathed out, staring down at the slickly wrapped clear plastic rectangular box and the image of a laptop decorating the box. “Maria-Elena, this is  _too much_.”

“No it’s not,” she smiled serenely at him. “It’ll never be too much Yuuri, you are my friend,  _mi rey_. Too much is never enough, go on, open it.” Yuuri sputtered and she nudged him with her heel, laughing. She helped him through setting it up, and downloaded a video chatting program called Skype.

“Thank you,” he’d whispered as they hugged goodbye the next day. Maria-Elena had a flight to catch.

“Just remember to Skype me,” she smiled at him and said her goodbyes to his parents and sister before leaving. Vicchan yipping as he watched her leave.

After his twelfth birthday Yuuri learned Maria-Elena made time for him to call her, as did he with the thirteen hour difference. For the upcoming christmas festivities happening in the states Maria-Elena taught him songs, both in English as in Spanish. She introduced him to her group of friends through group chats, and with that his accent in English was basically non-existent with the constant English buzz, though slangs and idioms still caught him by surprise.

Once, while watching the World Champions on Nikiforov’s senior debut he caught a soft string of Russian. Immediately he latched on and learned Russian with vigor. The soft and melodic language that felt as if the language had a surplus of emotions riding high in it, especially during songs. It pulled at Yuuri’s heartstrings, when he could understand it that was.

The thing about Russian:  _it was insanely fast-spoken_.

Yuuri was thankfully able to catch on after all his pen-pal and friend Maria-Elena never held back on her pace when talking in Spanish, and in turn neither did Yuuri.

Russian was mostly in the bag and his fluency being softly corrected by Maria-Elena’s friend Antonina during video chatting after a year of studying vigorously. His reading in Cyrillic was good at best and improving as Antonina helped him along step-by-step. Yuuri learned French slowly alongside the two as the American high school required Yuuri’s two friends to take a language for their credits.

With his slow process in French, and his ever improving Russian Yuuri turned to another language, German. 

By the age of sixteen Yuuri knew four languages fluently, with two steadily improving and another under its way.

By the age of seventeen Yuuri was still at Hasetsu and the unofficial tutor for English.

And by the age of seventeen, a season away from his birthday, Yuuri was dragged around the world with his two friends Maria-Elena and Antonina, both of age eighteen. He visited the cobblestone streets of Buenos Aires; the rainy days of Britain, the green pastures and brightly lit cities of Germany alongside the bright and energetic days of Spain and France and the scenic view of Venice, Italy; it ended with the exciting view of Moscow accompanied with Antonina’s visit to her grandparents, which in turn were excited of seeing their granddaughter alongside her two friends.

Maria-Elena and Antonina stayed a few days in Hasetsu, enjoying the hot springs and jogging alongside Yuuri in the mornings. On their last day they enjoyed the sunset by sitting on the sand, the waves lapping up their feet. Maria-Elena and Antonina were hand in hand, and Yuuri stared out into the fading rays of the sun, hoping to one day find a love as joyful and as promising as theirs.

They left with a tearful goodbye and promises to visit and late night video-calls.

 

* * *

 

Yuuko and Takeshi married as soon as winter's breath touched Hasetsu. The reception was beautiful and their vows even more so. Maria-Elena and Antonina had managed to come and congratulate the newlyweds, wishing them good wells and blessing for a healthy family. Takeshi had joked about when they were to marry and they merely smiled. And Yuuri understood then and there, because he would never understand the depth of their love, and so he caught a glimpse of it, as had the two Nishigoris.

They’d come to the same conclusion: both were willing to wait, because by all means and ways they were already as close as one could be, no matter the legalities, and in their eyes they were already wifes; with their love as their key and hearts as their vows.

Yuuri gave a speech, allowing his anxiety to overcome him for a terrifying moment before he relaxed enough for his lips to move and his chords to strike up words.

Yuuri danced that night with Yuuko, smiling brightly down at her. She looked ethereal in her wedding gown. Yuuri gave her up to Takeshi with a spin, the groom looking surprised and pleased at the turn of events.

“They’re a pair made in paradise.” Yuuko sighed contently as she watched Antonina dip her love, their laughs brightening the room up as the guests cooed and encouraged their weird mix of a tango. Yuuri looked up at her from his seated position, a smile tugging at his lips.

“As are you and Takeshi.” Yuuri told her softly.

Yuuko’s lips pulled into an endearing smile and she laid her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll find someone, someday, somewhere out there Yuuri. You just have to wait.”

Maria-Elena’s bubbling laugh echoed through the room alongside the cheers of the viewers. “And hope,” Yuuri murmured, “for a love as unadulterated as theirs.”

“You’ll find it,” she said with such a finality that Yuuri believed her. “You’ll find that and so much more, Yuuri.”

 

* * *

 

When the triplets were on their way a storm was brewing, and when they were born into the late evening it was as clear as it allowed for the stars to shine through. On that night Yuuri was proclaimed godfather to one of the triplets: Lutz.

He held her in his arms, careful of her soft head, and stared down at her while the Nishigoris smiled down at their daughters.

“Yuuko, Takeshi, I—” Yuuri’s breath hitched and he sniffed. “I—  _thank you_.”

Yuuko smiled tiredly, “You’re basically family, Yuuri. It wasn’t a question.”

No, Yuuri thought as he stared down at a sleepy Lutz, it really wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

For the triplets fourth birthday they met Maria-Elena and Antonina in person rather than through a screen. Everyone sat down with a slice of cake, the triplets over the moon with the presents the two women brought. Each had a new pair of skates along with miscellaneous items from the States, Argentina, and Russia.

That night they watched Victor Nikiforov win gold once more. Vicchan happily barking as the triplets threaded their fingers through the small dog’s fur after they had loudly cheered.

Yuuri saw as Antonina leaned into Maria-Elena’s embrace, their rings flashing prettily in the lights of the apartment. And watched as Nikiforov’s gold medal shined as brightly as their rings.

 

* * *

Inspired by [yaoi_yaoieverywhere 's story The World Needs You (You Don't Want It)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11902584)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews would make my day (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ
> 
> Edit: I know there are a lot of grammar mistakes and I am slowly going through them. English is my co-language, I learned it alongside Spanish and have hard times with grammar and the likes.


	2. Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, there's a Russian Begging for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, I don't think this flows right but I'll fix it later. It's currently 2:37 AM and I can just hear my dear friend, who shall remain anonymous, cackling at me and admonishing me on my terrible life decisions.
> 
> Enjoy my shit!

Yuuri’s in the middle of teaching English to a tutoring class of four people when Yuuko barges in. He stares at his heaving friend, bent over with her hands resting against her knees as she tries to catch her breath.

“Yuuko?” He asks, slowly maneuvering around the table and its surprised students. “Yuu-chan? What’s the matter?”

 He catches the stilting breaths of, “...triplets uploaded — _Nikiforov_ —  I’m so sorry.”

 “Breathe,” Yuuri tells her, laying his hand on her back. “Catch your breath. _Breathe in._ And out. _In. Out_.” It’s funny how he’s using his calming methods for anxiety to reduce Yuuko’s heavy breathing. Her breaths even out and soon she’s straightening up.

 Her brown gaze is unsettled, She’s fluttering about and her grip on her phone is shaky at best. It reminds Yuuri of the time she’d cornered him in the rink to tell him about her getting together with Takeshi. He’d merely smiled and pulled her in for a hug telling her how happy he was for her and that’s all that ever mattered.

 But now she looks a bit more frazzled, her hair's a mess and her jacket is wrinkled around the hems of her sleeves from her gripping and twisting them often.

 “Yuuri,” she murmurs, grabs his elbow and directs him outside the ‘study’ room with a quick “we’re just out here,” thrown back to the dazed occupants.

 Shoot,” he says immediately. “What’s wrong?”

 “Remember how after Worlds you skated to Victor Nikiforov’s Free Skate for the triplets?”

“My rendition of Stammi Vicino?” He furrows his brows. A bad feeling creeping up his spine. He is aware of the fact that he was recorded whenever he skated by Yuuko, it’d never bothered him nor would it ever, _yet_ —  

Yuuko twists her fingers nervously, “Yes. Well apparently the triplets also found my recording of that and others from ages ago.”

His eyes turn pleading when understanding dawns him, “Please tell me they didn’t.”

“I’m so sorry Yuuri!” She exclaims and brings the lit screen of her phone for him to seen. He swallows at the ammount of views his rendition of the gold winning Free Skate has accounted for. He tentatively holds the phone with Yuuko fluttering nervously beside him. The numbers are too long, way too long and definitely too big. “The triplets learned how to upload videos onto Youtube and posted this behind my back using my account.” Her voice is sorrowful and her face is pinched in concern.

“It could be a fluke,” he swallows, vision blurring. “A bug, there’s no way so many p- _people_ have seen this.” His breath is coming out in short puffs, his chest feels constricted with each heaving breath and he steps back to lean his back against the cool wall of Yu-topia. “Right?”

“Oh Yuuri.” Yuuko takes the phone from him and holds his hands. He stares down at her hands clasped tightly around his shaking ones. “Shhh, Yuuri. We’ll get through this, it’ll pass over soon.”

“It’ll pass.” He parrots her, “It’ll blow over soon.” But why did he have the feeling that this is only the beginning? Of it being the edge of a storm that would quickly move and cloud over their skies and rain harshly against them. And Yuuri wasn’t sure if the rays of the sun and a rainbow would be worth the turmoil the storm would bring about once it hit.

 “Right.” But her voice holds no conviction. No intention of believing themselves or their futile efforts of turning a blind eye to the first droplet of the storm.

 Yuuri allows himself to ignore the matter at hand once he and Yuuko part ways, with her heading back to the Ice Castle and he back to tutoring his students. It works for the most part and allows him to blissfully ignore his fraying nerves. But then the tutoring session ends and the sweet sea of losing himself in English spits him back onto the land of cold and stone-hard reality.

 He bids his students goodbye and watches them as they stumble down the stairs, laughing when they say goodbye in a stilted English that reminds him of when he first started learning. The rest of the day passes by in a blur, with him shaking of the remnants of the first sighting of snow from his and Vicchan’s coat after the sun is long gone and the moon reflects light brightly.

 He’s in his room with his laptop open. It was one of the newer designs that Maria-Elena insisted on gifting him. He accepts the video request and sits on his bed, propped up by his pillows and with Vicchan softly snoring by his hip.

 Antonina’s soft Russian fills the room and her blue eyes shine as brightly as the caribbean waters on a sunny day.

 “Moscow’s been good,” she tells him, her long brown hair up in a careless bun. “Maria-Elena’s been able to unwind and be outside rather than in her rabbit hole.”

 “How are your grandparents?” He asks her. He’s genuinely curious as he hasn’t visited Moscow in over three years. He knows how Maria-Elena is doing, after all she does the same thing every time around once her manuscript is up and done and running through the process of editing and refinement.

 “They’re good,” there’s a breathless laugh, “better than ever, really. Sometimes I feel they love Maria-Elena more than their own granddaughter. They’re spoiling her.”

 “I’m sure she’s loving it.” He runs his fingers through Vicchan’s long curls. The dog gives a content growl and pushes himself further into Yuuri’s ministrations.

 “Yes, she is.” Antonina’s voice is lofty and melodic, and her voice grows loving. “They told us that they’ve been planning our wedding since our trip all those years back. Back to when you were seventeen and we were eighteen.”

 “Even a blind could tell you guys loved each other with every fiber of your being, even back then.” They sit in silence for a while, briefly talking about the video that surfaced with Yuuri’s rendition but after his face showed it all Antonina quickly dropped the subject and changed it.

 “Hey, Yuuri.” Antonina’s voice dances in his ears after a few minutes of smooth silence. “I— ever since Argentina and now the States have legalized it I’ve been thinking.”

 “The legalization of same-sex marriage?” He inquires. It’s rhetorical. He knows it is, she knows it is. But she answers all the same, and is brilliantly smiling at hearing it spoken out loud.

 “Yes.”

 “You want to make it official,” Yuuri says breathlessly, “you want to make in legal in the eyes of the laws.”

 “More so than what we already have.” She smiles widely. “I want to make it special, Yuuri, very special.”

 “Do you have a plan?”

 “Do you remember Paris?” She counters, and her fingers swirl in the air as if she were tracing an image. “Do you, Yuuri?”

 “How could I not?” He responds, a laugh tugging up his throat. “That was the moment you two stopped dancing around in circles.”

 Antonina sighs as a look of utter love crosses her face, “A kiss under the Eiffel Tower. I was so worried, but she looked so lively back then, so happy and _beautiful_ , I just had to take the risk.”

 “‘The risk is the step, the consequences and benefit the journey, and the destination is one of wonder.’” He quotes, and Antonina nods.

 “I have to go now, Yuuri.” She tells him. “I’ll call you later once Maria-Elena is up and about. And Yuuri?”

 “Yes?”

 “Take a risk.” The screen goes blank with an _Antonina Vasilieva-Iglesias has ended the call_ box and displaying the amount of time they had both talked for. 

* * *

 Over the course of the week Yuuri helps around in the onsen, occasionally acting as the translator for foreigners from outside of Japan, and overall helping about for it to act as a buffer to ignore the outside world. If he wanted to be difficult then he would be difficult with a side of stubbornness to boot.

The triplets had since then apologized profusely for uploading his skating video, and Lutz had pulled her puppy-dog eyes on him along with her quivering voice. They all had him wrapped around their fingers, and with Lutz, basically controlled him. He’d told them that all was well and proceeded to shoo them out of his room after two hours of them commandeering his laptop and talking to the laughing couple currently in Russia. They left giggling.

So when Yuuri steps out of the kitchen the morning a week after the video fiasco and catches sight of silver hair he immediately backtracks with a quick “nope,” passing through his lips and shuts his eyes tightly, closing himself off from reality. Mari nee-chan catches him in the kitchen while staring blankly at a wall, muttering nonsensically in Italian, then counting in Russian to finally cursing in German.

“Lil’ bro,” she starts, laying the tray of dirty dishes on the counter next to the sink. “Chill.”

He mutters inaudibly, weakly saying something in Spanish, and his sister rolls her eyes at his vast display of fluency. She offers offhandedly, “It’s not too busy today, you could take Vicchan out for a walk?”

“I can do that,” Yuuri jumps at the idea. “Yes, brilliant, I’ll do that.”

Yuuri quickly sidesteps some ambling clients and whistles for Vicchan as he gathers his coat and scarf. Snow had settled on Hasetsu’s grounds and it was absolutely gorgeous. Yuuri faintly recalls the Vasilieva-Iglesias couple stopping by during the winter after the triplets fourth birthday. Maria-Elena sat in the hot-springs for a good while; he and Antonina caught up with each other over steaming cups and sweet pastries. By the time Antonina and Yuuri were on their third cup of tea did Maria-Elena join them, skin pruny but her form much more lax than what it had been when she had arrived.

It was the hot waters of Yu-topia and the snow surrounding her that had given her inspiration to write her trilogy of books of ‘ _Snowbound_ ’ that had been her big-break through. Now she is well known and people eagerly wait for new releases.

Vicchan skitters to him, barking happily and then the next Yuuri sees is the ceiling along with frazzled brown curled fur and a tongue licking his face and glasses. Yuuri feels Vicchan by his arm yet the tongue that was slobbering him up wasn’t Yuuri’s familiar toy poodle. It was much larger, heavier, as it had managed to knock him down.

“Makkachin!” The licking stops and a pitiful whine escapes the larger dog. Yuuri props his eyes open and runs his sleeve down the length of his face.

A hand is offered to him and Yuuri gratefully takes it, his vision blurry with his glasses skewed on the fringe of his hair. If he squints he can make out a strong jaw, a somewhat-looking sharp nose and pink lips surrounded by pale skin.

“Are—” The person starts in Russian, before coughing. “ _Are you okay_?”

The last part was said in a heavily accented English, and Yuuri quickly settles his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. He nods, ready to tell the Russian that all was good, then his eyesight cleared and—

Well, shit.

Because right in front of him is Victor Nikiforov, pale blue-green eyes and silver hair and all. His eyelashes are long, longer than he’d expected and they cast shadows below his eyes under the lighting of the foyer. His eyes are a magnificent shade, he couldn’t quite describe the exact color, and perhaps never would be able to. Cameras did him no justice as his eyes were brighter than he’d ever remembered seeing, unlike the dull pale blue he’d seen so many times on television screens. They are like an unknown gem, beautiful and ethereal and heavenly.

Yuuri blinks owlishly. He’s spent too much time reading through his friend’s lengthy manuscripts.

“You are okay, right?” Nikiforov asks in his stilted English, brows furrowed in concern.

“I’m alright.” He states in Russian, and notices the silver-haired legend’s eyes minutely widen in surprise. “Just… _startled,_ that’s all.”

“That’s a relief,” Nikiforov says quickly, before suddenly grabbing ahold of Yuuri’s shoulders. His gem-like eyes bore into Yuuri’s. “You! You skated to my Free Skate, Stammi Vicino, right? Katsuki Yuuri?” There’s a pleased sort of undertone reverberating Nikiforov’s voice.

Yuuri goes cross eyed, “Ah, yes. That’s me.” If he gave a nervous cough at the end then no one could hold it against him.

“You—” Nikiforov starts, “ _are amazing!_ I mean of course your form could use a bit more work to it, you wobbled a bit on you landings, but that’s fine! Your performance and step sequences made up for it and more. You have the charisma needed for it. The build for it too.”

“Ah, thank you.” Yuuri truly tries to sound grateful, he does, but the bafflement of being complimented by Victor Nikiforov is too much. It’s a wonder why he is still standing, much less coherent enough to form words and _converse_ with the skating legend.

Wait, he spoke too soon.

Nikiforov keeps going, unperturbed at the fact that Yuuri has gone stiff. “I’m glad I bumped into you, I wasn’t sure how I would find you with little to no information on you. I want to chat.”

“Chat?” Yuuri asks dazedly. Nikiforov’s hands are very distracting and very warm; he feels the warmth of them seeping through his thick coat. With how close Nikiforov is Yuuri could feel the slight disturbances on his skin, each puff that pushed through the gem-eyed man’s lips. His face turns into the color of a ripe tomato at the thought. The gold-medalist nods excitedly and allows Yuuri to take a step back and regain some semblance of personal space.

“Yes,” Nikiforov’s smile grows even larger and takes on the shape of, strangely, a _heart_. It fits the Russian, Yuuri thinks mutely. And then there’s a question directed at him.

“Hah?” Yuuri sounds out his question.

Nikiforov grabs his hands and brings Yuuri close. The Japanese man can only stumble a step towards Nikiforov in his dazed state. “I said,” the man starts brightly, “will you come to Russia and train with me?”

“HAH?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone realized that I changed into Present Tense? 
> 
> I mean, I'm curious. It was done on purpose, because for me the first chapter was a quick reminisce of Yuuri's past while the main story is what's currently happening? Anyways that's how I view it.
> 
> Comments make my day, even quick pointers to improve make my day!
> 
> This will be edited once I get some sleep, goodnight.


	3. A Crescent Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo.... School starts tomorrow, that basically means I've died and descended to Hell, right?
> 
> Anyways, my friend says I should get a schedule up and running for this story. I said schedules are boring and such, but she has a point. I'll try to draft one up this week.
> 
> Anyways, my friend you know who you are, Happy Belated Birthday you crap!

After Yuuri’s initial shock at Nikiforov’s sudden proclamation subsided, and Yuuri was not proud of his reaction whatsoever, he scampered backwards and _away_ from the Russian’s warm hands. The silver-haired man stared curiously — if a bit concerned — at Yuuri’s sudden action. With his head tilted to the side the skating legend simply allowed Yuuri his space and instead opted to stare at the Japanese man as he caught his breath. Yuuri was immensely grateful as it also allowed him to cool his face back to its normal pallor.

“Ah,” Nikiforov said, “too much?”

“Too much,” agreed Yuuri, gulping in air. “Let’s discuss this over a cup of tea?” He offered meekly.

 Which brought him back to the present with Yuuri staring at his cooling cup of tea clutched in his hands rather than at Nikiforov. The professional skater for the most part had just sat there quietly. Yuuri had remembered Antonina’s use of jam in tea long enough to grab a jar of it and place it on the tray besides Nikiforov’s cup while he’d prepared the tea.

“So,” begins Yuuri, no longer feeling as if his anxiety were to swallow him whole. He places his cup down. “I’m not sure if I heard you correctly earlier.”

“I meant what I said,” Nikiforov’s leaning his head against his palm, his index idly tracing the rim of his empty cup, and his gaze never faltering from Yuuri’s form. “I’d like for you to train with me, here or in Russia, the setting does not matter.”

“That’s a rather, er,” Yuuri struggles to find the correct word in Russian. He finds it in Spanish instead. “ _Descarado de tí?_ ”

Nikiforov blinks.

“ _Brash_ ,” tries Yuuri in English. “No, more like _audacious_.”

“I may know English but my vocabulary is pretty limited.”

“Bold, then.” Yuuri decides. He places his hands firmly on his knees. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s an honor for you to tell me you wish to train with me and all. But I’m nothing special,” he’s a self-taught mediocre skater, good if one weren’t nit picky. “Why would you like to train with _me_ of all people?”

Nikiforov stops tracing the rim of his cup and straightens up. He seems serious, uncharacteristically so, with his eyes sharper than before and his lips set in a determined line. His hands were pushing down on the table and Nikiforov leans forward, so much so that Yuuri twitches his head back minutely.

“ _Why_ ?” Nikiforov mutters, “Why _you_ ? Because the man gliding across the ice in that video doesn’t need technicalities, doesn’t need to worry about each jump, each curve of his fingers, but _rather_ that man enjoys skating. It shows, Katsuki Yuuri, your passion and love for skating. It shows through your performance. You’re languid and firm in every movement, and with each jump it didn’t matter if you nailed it or not. You’re passionate about skating; the story you tell unfolds clearly when you skate.”

Yuuri stays silent. He can feel the truth behind each word, can hear the conviction backing it up and the earnesty Victor Nikiforov’s tone. It’s a tough pill to swallow with Yuuri never being one to take compliments — _to their fullest intent_ — well. He stays silent, even as Nikiforov backs down to sit.

“And,” says Nikiforovs brightly. “You’ve reminded me of what it truly feels to skate. _Truly_ skate, for myself and not the entirety of Russia, of the _skating community_. Watching you, it was an eye opener. I want to skate, skate like I once did and I feel as if you can help me walk down that path again. Be it in St. Petersburg or here, I would like to skate like I once had again.”

“Me?” Yuuri’s incredulous, but he allows for Nikiforov’s words to sink in. He, _the_ Victor Nikiforov, wants Yuuri to help him with skating. Well, more around the lines of finding his spark for skating once again. “You truly believe I can help you with this?”

“Yes,” the certainly is a bit overwhelming, “I believe you can.”

“ _I—_ ” Yuuri licks his chapped lips. “I’d like to think about this.”

“Of course,” agrees Nikiforov, his eyes following Yuuri’s movement as he stands. “Take your time.”

“I recommend soaking in the hot springs,” says Yuuri. He gathers the empty cups and places them on the tray. Yuuri offers a tentative smile, “ _I guess_ — talk to you later?”

Nikiforov holds out his hand once he stands, and Yuuri balances the tray against his hip to grasp the legend’s hand.

“Victor Nikiforov,” he introduces himself. “I look forward to skating with you.”

“Katsuki Yuuri,” Yuuri does the same. “Have a good evening, Mr. Nikiforov.”

“Victor.” He corrects softly. “Call me Victor.”

“Yuuri.” He’s not sure what pushes him to allow Nikiforov — _Victor_ — the use of his first name bereft of the usual honorifics, but the brilliant smile he receives in return is worth it.

 

* * *

 

The afternoon quickly slips from Yuuri’s fingers as it blurs into the dimming evening. And before he knows it he’s shrugging on his coat and clicking his tongue against his teeth for Vicchan to follow.

They make their usual rounds: heading to the small park of Hasetsu for a few minutes, with Vicchan chasing the kids around in their game of tag, to stopping by the local bakery for some leftover sweets that the owner — a sweet old lady named Aki Sakura — bagged up for Yuuri once a week.

In the end Yuuri crosses the bridge, telling himself that it wasn’t late enough for Ice Castle to be closed yet, and heads over with Vicchan happily padding beside him.

“I hope it isn’t too late for my being here,” says Yuuri as he opens the glass door. He’s carrying Vicchan, he hadn’t wish to overexert his dog, and walks towards a beaming Yuuko. His poodle gives a delighted yip, squirming in his arms until Yuuko takes ahold of him and greets the small dog with cooes.

“I gave you a key for a reason, _Yuuri_ ~” there’s a teasing edge to Yuuko’s voice. She scratches between Vicchan’s ears. “The rink is free for you to use. Make sure you close up if you leave after me,” she cooes at Vicchan again.

“Yes, of course.” says Yuuri. He heads behind the counter and grabs his skates, the ones he endorsed himself in buying when he’d visited Netherlands a few years back, and ties them tight. He’s left them in the back room at the rink after Yuuko had pointed out to him he could and was safe to do so.

“I’ll be on the ice,” he calls out, steadily making his way to the rink. Yuuko, in turn, follows him with the brown toy poodle in her arms, and he hands her his skate guards once he’s on the smooth sheen of ice.

A few minutes later Yuuko joins him, skating alongside him in reminisce of when they were younger. Yuuri doesn’t worry about Vicchan, knowing well that the walk had tired his loved companion enough for him to snooze on the DIY dog bed the triplets had made out of a flattened and battered pillow, a pool noodle and a ratty red sweatshirt.

While they’re making laps around the rink Yuuri quietly tells her the happenings of that morning. She’s silent for the most part of it, after her initial reaction of wanting to _dart_ to Yu-topia to meet the legendary figure skater, that is. Yuuko is attentive, and she let’s out a mix of what seems to be between a gasp and a squeal when he tells her about Niki—   _no, Victor’s_ — proposal to skate with him. When he finishes he helplessly turns to her in asks her on how to go about it.

Yuuko skates in front of him; gliding backwards so she may talk to him while keeping eye contact. Yuuri makes sure to keep in steady pace with her.

“Yuuri,” she stresses out his name, “ _this_ isn’t of what _I_ would do. But rather what would _you_ do? What do you want to happen? You don’t have to decide tonight, or even tomorrow, you have some _time_. Think it out.”

_Take a risk._

He swallows, “But what would you do, if you were in my position?”

She stops suddenly and places a hand on Yuuri’s chest, stopping him with her. Her eyes, a lighter shade of brown than his, strip him bare. “Look, Yuuri, had I been in your position I would’ve considered it.”

“Would’ve?” Yuuri hears the _but_ of the sentence before it even reaches past Yuuko’s lips.

“But,” starts Yuuko. “I have a loving husband and three incredible little girls. Yes, I would have been over the moon at such an offer but everything here in Hasetsu is more than enough with plenty to spare for me. I would’ve considered the offer for a few seconds before declining, because Yuuri, that life isn’t for me anymore. Never has and never will.”

“It’s never been mine either,” Yuuri points out rather glumly. Perhaps in another life he would have persisted in his efforts to skate on the same ice as Victor. Would his anxiety have crippled him? Would he have won? Or would he have lost, forever the failure? What about his friends, he knows he would’ve retained his friendship with Takeshi and Yuuko but what about Maria-Elena and Antonina? Would they still have been important figures in his life? They helped him with furthering his studies, helped him with his anxieties and self-doubts. They’ve dragged him around the world, showing him new sites, new worlds. Would he still have seen that? With traveling for competitions, would he’d have the time to sightsee and enjoy the different cultures?

None of that would’ve been worth it, he decides. If he did not have the loving support and care his friends and family had given him, with him perhaps becoming too blinded by his need to skate and _win_ to see that love and support given to him in spades. He did not see that as a life worth living.

Because maybe he wouldn’t have been present for Yuuko’s wedding, or the birth of the triplets. He would have lost out on so much, each new family memory, each birthday and each celebration. Wouldn’t had traveled the world with his friends, perhaps not even learned new languages, and would have never been able to witness the pure love both the Nishigori and Vasilieva-Iglesias couples held.

Yet, still Yuuri selfishly thinks what would his life have been had he taken that path only to squash it down once the warning bells ring too loudly.

He wouldn’t have bared witness to the triplets shenanigans.

Or Maria-Elena’s ridiculous antics and her emotional rendition of _Balada para un loco_. Or him jokingly playing chopsticks on the piano while she pulled some Beethoven-like skills with Antonina playing the violin alongside their cacophony of noise.

Or Yuuko’s gushing with Antonina while she learned some Russian phrases, beaming all the while as Takeshi smiles indulgently. Or the triplets tripping over themselves to learn English and some Spanish phrases. Or their insistence that he teach them skating moves.

 _What if_ …

 _Or_ …

There were too many _what ifs_ and _ors_.

It had never been his life, the rink, the ice and blades, it was never his life. _Yet—_

Yet here Victor was giving him a free pass to glimpse — _no_ , to be _in_ this new cold and exhilarating world that he’d given up.

“But it _can_.” Yuuko insists and it snaps Yuuri back to cold reality. “Think it over, Yuuri.”

“I—” he starts, and then skates to the entrance. “I need time to think this through.”

She smiles at him as they untie their laces on the bench. “I’d be concerned if you didn’t think this through.”

He scoops Vicchan up.

He’s standing by the door as Yuuko locks up.

And then they go their separate ways at the bridge with Yuuko patting his shoulder and parting with a “ _follow your heart’s desire_.”

_Take a risk._

_Follow your heart’s desire._

The crescent moon is a frown in the sky, or perhaps a smile.

_Take a risk._

_Follow your heart’s desire._

Yuuri likes to think it’s the latter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments literally make my day, please comment, it'll make going through the first week of school much more bearable.


	4. The Raidho Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A yes, do kill me. I've been meaning to write this chapter out for the longest of times and I tried to make this longer, I swear, but nothing ever felt right.
> 
> Enjoy!

Those passing two weeks had Victor and Yuuri getting to know one another. At first it’s superficial facts: favorite color, favorite number, season, etc., but as the days waned on Yuuri would find himself with Victor sitting on the sand; waves lapping gently as they’d stare out into the seemingly never ending sea. Their voices grew soft, nostalgic, as they shared their stories from early childhood and onwards.

Victor was anything if not dead stubborn and persistent when it came to something he wished to accomplish. And Yuuri was just what he needed to accomplish his end goal. With their blooming friendship and getting to know the Russian as _just_ Victor Nikiforov, with fears and doubts as anyone else, instead of the skating legend he is; Yuuri found himself having a hard time saying no to Victor’s insistence that they skate together, wishing to prove to Yuuri that he was just what the gem-eyed man needed.

Victor, Yuuri found, is also incredibly persuasive. More often than he’d like to admit Yuuri was at the rink, skating alongside the five-time gold champion and, embarrassingly so, giving out pointers on how to perform with the vigor and passion. Victor would soak up any tidbits of criticism that Yuuri let slip from his lips, and _improve_ so.

The first few days had Yuuri showing Victor the sights of Hasetsu. So because of that pictures were taken and uploaded to Instagram, and that included a selfie of a gobsmacked Yuuri and a beaming Victor, along with a picture of Makkachin and Victor in front of the castle and another in the ice rink with Yuuri and Victor skating side by side. It was a picture take courteously by the triplets.

Victor, Yuuri came to a conclusion, was also incredibly kind and blunt. Childish, at times, if he loosened up enough. A loose cannon.

So when early morning comes Yuuri stumbles into the kitchen, scrambled thoughts and bedhead galore, and sets the kettle to boil water, a phone rings.

Bleary-eyed, Yuuri swipes to accept and starts, “ _La puta madre, matate._ ”

“Good morning to you too,” a yawn.

“ _Tarada_.”

“Che, boludo. _Fijate que yo soy tu mejor amiga_ —”

He yawns and turns the stove off once the kettle starts to whisper a scream. “I just wanted tea this morning, is that too much to ask?”

“Yes.” It’s deadpan, and once Yuuri is seated with tea soothing his terrible morning mood he starts their usual conversations. They catch up — Maria-Elena recalling the recaps of _Casados con Hijos_ — and spew some nonsense that would have some heads spinning. Yuuri, for a brief moment, wonders if he should explain to her his situation in hopes that she would provide him the answer he’s seeking. He backtracks on it — _he realized_ —  with a sinking feeling, that he relies too heavily on Maria-Elena’s opinion. She’s never minded. Never has she ever backed down from helping him, and simply adores reminding him that he holds a dear place in her heart with lavish gifts and surprise visits; even going as far as to pack his bags for him when she’s planned surprise trips.

But Yuuri is twenty-three, nearing twenty-four, and he’s not going to piggyback on Maria-Elena any longer. However, that did not necessarily he couldn’t ask her to give him a view on both sides of his predicament, right?

Yuuri makes himself believe that it was not piggyback riding on his friend’s opinion as he quietly and hurriedly tells her of an edited version of his current situation and position.

“What should I do?” He finally asks. So much for not piggybacking. Perhaps this once should be the exception.

His cup of tea is empty. He frowns as he swirls the remnants of it.

“Oh, Yuuri,” sighs Maria-Elena. “You’ve lived in Hasetsu your whole life. You’ve told me before that once you wished to skate professionally, yet your anxiety choked that dream out. You’ve looked up to Victor for, how long now? Thirteen years?”

“I mean, I guess,” murmurs Yuuri. Bowed over he leans his forehead against the ledge of the table and rests his arm on his head, the other presses his phone firmly against his ear. “I mean, I was around ten years old when I first saw his performance with Yuuko on that old TV in Ice Castle.”

“Yuuri, what has it been that you’ve always wanted?”

“I’ve always wanted someone like y—” he stops, and clicks his teeth together.

“ _Yuuri_.”

“I’ve always wanted someone,” he tries again, his face flushing. “Someone like _you_.”

“Ah,” is all that’s said. And Yuuri flushes again when he realizes on how he’d _worded_ that.

“ _I mean—_!” Yuuri starts.

“I get it.”

A pause.

“What?”

“I get it,” reiterates Marie-Elena. “It’s not that you want _me_ . I got that when you said _‘someone like you’_ , or that you want someone with my same _mannerisms_ .” She blows a raspberry. A habit of hers when she prepares for a lengthy explanation. “Like I said, you don’t want _me_ or someone with my _mannerisms_ . No, you wish for someone who is strong-willed, no? Supportive, kind, and loving. Considerate, perhaps. You wish for someone _strong-willed_ so that when you sink they’re there, reaching down for you and someone pulls you up back to the surface after you’ve gone down.”

He lifts his head midway through her explanation. He understand what she’s saying. _He understands_.

“You wish for someone supportive for those sinking episodes. Kind so that their kindness reaches out and envelopes you. You wish someone loving, for their guidance through those dark patches. Considerate for the sole fact that they’re giving you a chance even with all those faults of yours. Those faults that make you, Katsuki Yuuri, _a goddamn fucking miracle_ . So tell me, _mi rey_ , what is it that you wish for?”

He presses the heel of his hand to his watering eyes. It’s too early for this. Yet it’s the beginning of a new day. “What do I wish for?”

He’s whispering, and he with each trembling vocal chord stroked, his voice rises in volume.

“ _What_ do I wish for?” he pushes his empty cup of tea away. “I wish to know _exactly_ what I want. I want all you described and _more_ . I want the companionship of a friend and a partner and a _lover_ . I want a love like yours, all those trials and tribulations and coming to an _understanding_ and that love becoming stronger because of that. But I’m also _afraid_ of that. I’m afraid of taking a path which I know my anxiety will suffocate me. That’s the reason I’ve never gone pro. _You know why I’ve never gone pro_. But there are days I berate myself for not following that dream, and then it sickens me to think that. What if I’ve never met you guys had I skated? What would’ve it been like if I were consumed, each waking hour, with getting there? To the top? Only to fail?”

He breathes heavily and Maria-Elena let’s out a soft encouraging “go on,” as he regains his breath.

“Yet,” his hands are shaking. He places his hand firmly against the wood and grips his phone tighter. “ _Yet_ I can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like. I feel free when I skate, I pour my mind, body and _soul_ when I skate. I have fun, _so much fun_ and _freedom_. Would have that been enough for me to compete? The exhilaration of it? It’s a world in which it is foreign to me.”

“You have a key,” argues Maria-Elena, and Yuuri can almost imagine hands moving to emphasize her point. “It’s up to you whether you decide to use it or not.”

He stares down at his cup. A sharp looking ‘R’ formed in its tea remnants.

 

* * *

 

“What’s Argentina like?” asks Victor during their — now — daily beach outings. Makkachin and Vicchan chase stationary seagulls in the sand and force them to take flight.

“You’ve got to know the right places,” answers Yuuri. “The capital is beautiful if you go down the right streets. They have their own way of speaking Spanish, too. Picture Italian,” Yuuri gestures vaguely with his hand. “Are you picturing it?”

Victor hums his confirmation.

“Well,” Yuuri closes his eyes, picturing the pedestrian-filled streets of Buenos Aires as he recounts it. “Once Argentina gained her independence she opened her borders to foreigners. A huge wave of europeans immediately flooded into the newly independent state. One of the biggest demographics that emigrated to the mythical land of silver were the Italians. They influenced Argentina a lot. So much so that their speaking patterns basically integrated themselves to their Spanish. Their way of speaking it resembles an Italian lilt. That type of Spanish is called the Argentine _Porteño_.”

“It sounds lovely.”

“Yes, well,” Yuuri tilts his head back. “It’s a beautiful dialect but a terrible one when it comes to slang.”

“Ah,” is all he says, “and can you speak this Spanish dialect,  _Potegno_?”

“ _Porteño,_ ” he corrects softly. “And yes, I can.”

“Can I hear you speak it?” It sounds terribly shy from such a boisterous man but Yuuri shrugs it off due to his loud beating heart in his chest that’s like the smacks on a drum in his ears.

“Uh,” Yuuri clears his throat. “Yeah, sure, what would you like me to say?”

Victor looks at him, he’s sheepish and Yuuri smiles back at him. “Okay, so maybe I didn’t think this through?”

“I’ll take that as ‘say anything’,” Yuuri snorts out a laugh and Victor gives him a mock glower betrayed by a wide smile a moment later. “Sorry, sorry. Okay I’ll think of something.”

Really, Yuuri has no idea of what he should say in the language, so instead he stares out into the ocean and starts with, “ _Las tardecitas de Buenos Aires, tienen ese qué sé yo, ¿viste?_ ”

Ah, well that [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrG5ernfF88&list=PLHazi5sKI_2pU8QwNLLRj69SBAQaRc8Z6&index=13) is basically ingrained in his head by now. So he continues, “ _Salís de tu casa por Arenales, lo de siempre en la calle y en vos, cuando de repente, detrás un árbol, me aparezco yo._ ” Yuuri imagines the story unfolding with the narrative. “ _Mezcla rara de penúltimo linyera y de primer polizonte en el viaje a Venus. Medio melón en la cabeza, las rayas de la camisa pintada en la piel, y dos medias suelas clavadas en en los pies, y una banderita de taxi libre en cada mano… Te reís!_ ” His laugh is breathless, “ _Pero solo vos me ves: Porque los maniquíes me guiñan, los semáforos me dan tres luces celestes y las naranjas del frutero de la esquina me tiran azahares. Vení!, que así, medio bailando y medio volando, me saco el melón para saludarte, te regalo una banderita y te digo…_ ” Yuuri stops there, that’s when the singing starts. Yuuri’s not going to sing.

“Wow,” whispers Victor, pulling Yuuri from his reverie. “That, I don’t know what that was or what you said, it was beautiful!”

Yuuri flushes a nice shade and ducks his head, “Ah, thank you.”

“Is it from something?”

“It’s from a song,” answers Yuuri. He spots their dogs chasing one another by the water. “It’s called _Balada para un loco_. It starts the song that way, in a narrative of a story and then the singing starts.”

“Even if I couldn’t understand it,” Victor grabs his hand and shifts so that he’s kneeling in front of Yuuri. “I could imagine the story just by the way you emphasized some words with certain emotions. I could imagine a man. He’s crazy, by the way he’s rambling, but he’s crazy in his unique own way.”

Yuuri smiles, that’s not too far from the narrative.

“The way you said all that. Every emotion, every tremble, it’s like how I see you when you skate. You tell this story like no one else does. I want that back. Yuuri, I want _you_ to re-teach me everything I’ve ever known so that I can start anew with something _fresh_.”

Victor’s always loved surprising his audience, Yuuri muses. And as he stares into the gem-eyes of his friend, his resolve disappears, and for once in his life, Yuuri does not allow for his anxiety to dictate his life.

“Okay.”

Victor blinks, “Huh?”

“I said okay,” Yuuri laughs and squeezes Victor’s hand. “As in, okay, I’ll help you find your spark. I'll go to Russia with you.”

He’s engulfed in a tight embrace that pushes Yuuri into the sand. He can’t find himself to care that he was lying on the sand or that he’s going to itch later because of it. Victor pulls away and smiles down at Yuuri brightly. Yuuri has a smile of his own stretching his cheeks. “Do you really mean that?”

 _You have a key_ , Maria-Elena had said. Exactly a key to what, Yuuri’s not sure. _It’s up to you if you whether you use it or not_.

And as Victor helps him up and pulls him back into a tight embrace, Yuuri is willing to find out.

 

* * *

 

They’re walking on the bridge when Yuuri hears an angry “ _Victor!_ ” resonate down the street.

“Hey, Victor.” Yuuri says. 

“I heard that too,” the silver-haired man confirms. Yuuri watches as he squints. “ _Is that_ —?” he trails off, before beaming and waves. “ _YURI!_ ”

Makkachin and Vicchan bark. 

_Yuri?_

A whip of blond hair falls within his eyesight. And Yuuri takes an involuntary step back at the glower they receive.

“ _Y_ _ou!_ ” Yuri Plisetsky, Russian Punk, snarls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is mostly filler ┐(￣ヘ￣;)┌ I'm sorry.
> 
> I didn't think having AP Psych and French 3 sandwiched between Algebra 2, and Stat and Probs was going to kill me with HW. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments! You should ask my friend, I get all flustered at these nice comments. Sorry for any grammatical errors, they'll be fixed eventually.
> 
> ヾ( `ー´)シφ__ I'll keep writing, I swear!


	5. The Russian Fairy storms in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy.

Yuuri feels like banging his head on the nearest guardrail, future concussion be damned. He'd heard of Plisetkey’s fiery temper. And his eyebrows rise as Plisetsky directs his icy glare to Victor and begins to show his rather… er… colorful vocabulary.

In Russian.

Yuuri turns his head to hide his amused smile, and instead focuses on his phone. He has around seven messages from Maria-Elena and Antonina, along with ten missed calls from Yuuko. He frowns and scrolls through the messages first.

_Yuuri, estás bien???_

_Qué está pasando?_

_Está jodido, contesta xfa_

_Mi vida_

_Mi rey, contéstame porfa_

He furrows his brows, what? 

And then Antonina’s are a bit more disconcerting. They're something along the lines of “ _Have you taken your meds today?_ ” and _“They haven't crossed the line, have they?”_

He jumps as his phone rings — it's Yuuko.

“Yuu-chan?” He answers and presses his hand to his ear to tune the angry Russian out. It seems busy on her side.

“YUU-KUN!” Yuuko sounds relieved. “ _Thank_ — you haven't been swarmed, have you?”

“Swarmed?” he questions. “No, why would I be?”

“The media,” she stops abruptly and screams angrily in a mix of Japanese and stilted English. Yuuri dearly wishes her daughters aren’t in her near vicinity as he winces and holds his phone away from his ear, and then brings it back when everything quiets down. “The media. They’ve finally caught up exactly _where_ Victor was staying this whole time. They’ve swarmed Ice Castle and the onsen. They’re demanding Victor, Yuuri. The triplets have kept the reporters at bay, somehow, but the reporters are very insistent.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t showed up before.” He confesses, and pulls at his fingers. With a sigh, he asks timidly “You say they’re at the onsen too?”

“Unfortunately,” Yuuko confirms.

Yuuri spares Victor a glance. His silver-haired friend is merrily smiling at the angry blond teen, with his index finger hovering beside his lips as he starts to placate the Russian punk. Brown worried eyes meet gem-like ones, and silver brows are furrowed.

“Yuuri?” asks Yuuko, and Victor echoes it seconds later. He turns from the Russian duo to finish his conversation with his childhood friend. They talk for a few more minutes — Yuuko trying her best to sound calm besides the cacophony of noise on her side — before Yuuri reluctantly agrees with her that he should tell Victor about it.

He worries for the skater as he cuts the call. Yuuri can’t even begin to fathom what it is like to have the media constantly badgering you. Having them follow you, inquire about you, and start rumor mills about you. Having them breach your privacy like so, for a few spoken questions and rare candid answers. The stalking of your every move, every friendship and acquaintanceship and companionship. Their digging into one’s life for minuscule irrelevant details to unravel someone’s life.

It sounds horrid.

It was almost the life that Yuuri had blindly stepped into. And it is one he’ll undoubtedly become a part of if he follows Victor back to St. Petersburg.

 _Once_ , Yuuri corrects himself.  _Once_ he follows Victor back to St. Petersburg. He’d given his word.

“Yuuri?” Eerily, throughout the whole time he had been conversing with Yuuko, the angry shouting on his side had subsided. And when Yuuri turns, he’s met with Victor’s concerned gaze and a silently fuming Yuri Plisetsky.

“Ah, Victor.” Yuuri says in English. He barely notices his transition into the language and rubs his sweating hands down his sides.

“What’s wrong?”

Yuuri faces towards the direction of the Ice Castle and inclines his head as he says, “The paparazzi are here.”

“Oh,” Victor lays a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze. “I guess we should should go and greet them!”

There’s a bright smile adorning Victor’s lips when Yuuri whips around to direct an incredulous look at him. And Yuuri figures that this wasn’t such a rare occurrence for the Russian skater. And wasn’t that just sad? Having people meddling in your life _—_ _the fact that Victor had already anticipated as much_ — all around while trying to lead a semi-normal life?

Yuuri really wants to bash his head on the guardrail as such depressing thoughts filter through his mind. He eyes the guardrail, his toes twitch towards it, but instead he huffs out a puff of relenting breath and gives Victor a smile. Or attempts to. Yuuri’s not sure. It could be strained.

Damn.

Their little moment is broken by an irritated blond. “Don’t tell me this is why you left St. Petersburg.”

“Aha!” Victor cries out, “I almost forgot! Yuri, this is Yuuri. Yuuri, Yuri.”

“Victor you literally just gave me whiplash.”

“Wait, you speak Russian?” other Yuri sputters, “Wait, that doesn’t matter. Not right now at least. You said the paparazzi are here?”

Yuuri nods his head, “Hn. Yeah, both at the onsen — that’s my family’s inn — and the Ice Castle. They’re asking for Victor, so I’m not sure if they caught wind of your visit yet.”

Russian Yuri gives a huff, his frustrations and short temper tangible in such a simple gesture.

“I could try sneaking you into the onsen,” Yuuri offers. “We could set up a room for you for your stay. I need to take the dogs back anyways.”

Russian Yuri leans to the side and quirks his head to look behind Yuuri, to the dogs, and gives the Japanese a jerky nod of — reluctant — acceptance. “Okay, sure. But I’m taking Victor back to Russia so that he can make good of his promise.”

_“What promi—?”_

“I’m sure he’ll go back with you,” Yuuri reassures the teen, and gives Victor a questioning look. _Promise_?

Victor looks just as confused as the dark-haired man.

Oh.

_Oh._

It had slipped from Yuuri’s mind just how forgetful the skater truly was. 

“I’ll go to the rink then,” Victor says, smiling brightly. “I’m sure the Nishigoris would appreciate that.”

“ _Please_ ,” Yuuri practically begs. “Yuuko is on her last nerve, even if it’s huge publicity for Ice Castle, it’s still fraying on her nerves.” Victor nods sympathetically.

Yuuri calls the dogs over, and he and Yuri head down towards the direction of onsen while Victor goes the opposite, towards Ice Castle.

It’s not long until Russian Yuri breaks the tense silence. The smooth sound of his suitcase wheels grating the ground and the soft pants of the dogs being the only noise in their rigide bubble.

“I don’t see what’s so special about you,” the blond scoffs. Yuuri merely shrugs, not willing to speak once his heart spikes at the comment. “Or why the Old Man would book a plane at first notice and travel halfway across the world for _you_.”

“I’m not sure as to why either,” admits Yuuri, and with how uncomfortable he’s feeling he’s not surprised to feel the residual sand still clinging to some parts of his body. “Not entirely, at least. He’s tried to explain it to me, but truly, it flies over my head.”

“What was his stupid explanation for his impulsive decision?”

“Sincerely?” asks Yuuri as they round a corner. Russian Yuri nods, a set-line in his lips. “He says I inspire him.”

“What?” It’s incredulous, Yuuri knows. He hardly believes it himself. But the wide, face-stretching smile he received on the beach along with the air-knocking hug was enough to convince him otherwise. “You? His _muse?_ ”

Yuuri sputters. _Muse?_

They walk in silence for the rest of the way, with Yuuri wrapping his head around what the Russian had spitefully said. He, Katsuki Yuuri, a muse? For Victor, nonetheless, a skating legend? The man himself is inspiration enough.

But now as he thinks about it, Victor had been rather insistent for Yuuri to help him, that he skate alongside him. It’d gotten to the point where Yuuri had limped a day after as blisters popped on his feet, and Victor had Kowtowed to him once he caught sight of Yuuri’s blistered feet.

“Victor, what are you doing?” He’d asked, thoroughly taken aback.

“Isn’t this what one does when they’re apologizing? And deeply sorry?” Victor had asked, and Yuuri kneeled to push his shoulder, forcing him to sit upright. Victor added, “I saw it in a movie, once.”

“Not really,” Yuuri had answered, amused. “At least, not over blistered feet. Which, should I remind you, are not at fault.”

“But I am!” He’d insisted.

“It’s my fault,” Yuuri smiled. “I should know better, taken care of myself better. You’re not at fault.”

Yuuri is broken from his reverie and grabs the Russian’s elbow as they near Yu-topia. He can already hear the excited chatter of the paparazzi, see some flashes and hear the occasional elevated voice or two.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” The teen hisses.

“I’d think you’d rather avoid the paparazzi. I’m taking you the back way.” Answers Yuuri and leads the Russian to the back, to the door half-hidden between two shrubs adorning either side of the wooden door. He drops Yuri’s elbow and leads him down the hall after the blond steps inside — he’s looking around the hall —  bewildered, or perhaps simply in a cultural shock, while Yuuri pulls the door shut The dogs merrily run towards Yuuri’s bedroom at the end of the hall, nosing the door open and yip happily once inside.

“It’s a short notice,” says Yuuri apologetically, and slides a door open. “You’ll have to stay in the old banquet room with Victor until another room is available.”

The teen gives a huff, but steps into the room nonetheless. 

“I’ll got bring a futon.” Yuuri makes a vague gesture with his hand and starts to leave the room when suddenly the blond speaks up.

“Hey,” Yuuri turns to face blond. There’s a certain gleam in the sea-green. “I’m bringing Victor back to Russia, whether you like it or not.”

Yuuri smiles, “I don’t think you’ll find a problem with that.” He turns to leave again, but by the wooden frame of the sliding door, he pauses. “If you need anything, just let me know, I’m down the hall.”

“Wait!” There’s a cough, and a much calmer, forced baritone follows, “Wait.”

Yuuri turns again, and Russian Yuri stuffs his hands into the pockets of his team jacket. He’s glaring at the floor. “Yes?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Oh,” perhaps that shouldn’t be a surprise. “C’mon, I’ll get you some food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the hold up, and the short chapter. Things have been hectic lately, very stressful. Again, sorry. It'll probably be around 3 weeks to a month for the next chapter, until I get a steady writing rhythm and a schedule set up.
> 
> Comments make my day bearable, thank you all that have commented :)


	6. Starstruck

Yuuri enters kitchen, bleary-eyed and stumbling. Yawning, he stretches his arms above his head only to pause. There, sitting on the table of the kitchen, are freshly baked empanadas and a small box. Yuuri reaches out and plucks an empanada from the tray, it’s warm. He bites into it.

“Morning, _Yuu_ ri.”

“Antonina!” Yuuri whirls are to hug his friend. She tightly embraces him back. “When did you get here?”

Antonina breaks the hug and side steps Yuuri to prepare tea. “A little past midnight, hence why Maria-Elena broke out her only cooking skills to make empanadas.”

Yuuri sits at the table, nibbling into his empanada. While he does so he stares at his longtime friend and her hunched posture and drawn in shoulders. Yuuri had noticed the bags under her eyes, but he wasn’t so sure it’s because of jetlag anymore.

He sighs, “Antonina what’s the matter?”

She tenses and then relaxes. Bringing two steaming cups to the table, she says, “Over tea.”

He nods.

Once they’re settled, Yuuri stares at Antonina expectantly. She, for her part, stares down as she fiddles with her spoon in her tea. Finally, she releases a tense breath. “Yuuri I want to propose to Maria.”

He leans forward and squeezes her hand.

“But,” Antonina bites her lips, her hand clenching underneath his. “Would she agree? To marriage?”

“You can’t honestly believe she wouldn’t,” states he. “She loves you absolutely, always has and perhaps always will.”

The Russian gives a nod, a smile molding on her face. “Thanks, _Yuu_ ri. I needed that.”

“I’m here for you,” says Yuuri retracting his hand from hers. “Now, tell me, how was Russia.”

“It was great seeing my grandparents again.” Antonina grins. “Say, Yuuri, you want to know something?”

Intrigued, he leans forwards once more, as does Antonina. Whispering, she says. “They’ve missed you!”

He laughs. “I’ve missed them too.”

They chatted some more over tea. Yuuri answers all question candidly, as did Antonina. So when a certain blond Russian enters, he walks into a kitchen with two old friends softly chattering, and a tray of what seemed to be pirozhki in between them.

Antonina turns and smiles at Yuri, offering him a small wave and a greeting. Yuuri turns and says, “Good morning Yuri.”

“That’s confusing,” comments Antonina, before turning to Yuri. “Would you like some tea?”

“You have pirozhkis,” says Yuri instead.

“Oh!” Antonina offers him one, wrapping it in a napkin before handing it to him. “They’re not pirozhkis but rather empanadas, kinda similar if you ask me.”

Yuri takes one, hesitantly.

“Go on,” Antonina urges. Yuri nibbles on it. His face alights in joy, and he takes another bite, and another, and before they either Yuuri or Antonina can blink the empanada is gone. Yuri goes to grab another but he pauses, staring into the box beside the plate of Argentine cuisine. Antonina, noticing his curiosity, smiles and opens the box. There, sitting in pristine condition, are several books of Maria-Elena’s second installment of her new hit series _Earthbound_ , a sister series to _Snowbound_.

“земной?” Yuri hesitantly reaches into the box at Antonina’s nod. “ _земной!_ Where did you get this? It’s not even out!”

“I take it you’re a fan?” asks Yuuri, smiling into his tea.

“A fan?” Yuri sputters and then mocks. “ _I take it you’re a fan?_ Yes, of course, I’m a fan! She’s only the best author out there!”

He suddenly coughs, red-faced.

“Keep the book,” says Antonina. “Read it, I like to think it’s quite good.”

“I would like to think it is,” stumbles in the subject of the discussion. Groggily she yawns and kisses Antonina’s head in greeting. “I spent endless nights, _nights!_ On that book. It holds my blood, sweat, and _tears._ ”

“Sweet—” stutters Yuri. “You’re M. E. Iglesias!”

“In the flesh,” she bows. “But you can call me Maria-Elena. Now, does anyone  want empanadas?”

Starstruck, Yuri takes another empanada.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait and the ridiculously short filler chappie here. Just imagine school not taking so much of my time :D


	7. News

4/8/18

So here's the thing, long ago I lost my will to write, and I just now got it back. BUT!!!! I am back, and this story will be under heavy revision. A lot of changes are going to take place, and I'm sorry guys but this won't be updated anymore. 

 _HOWEVER!_  This story will continue! Last time I had a vague idea where I was going with this, now I am currently focusing on the story-line and rewriting the first few chapters which will merge.

Yes, you read correctly. Merge! This won't be a chapter-story anymore, but a very fucking long one-shot. I am currently aiming 30-50k words for this story in total. That's a lot to write.

So, in the end, you can expect this new heavily revisioned story mid-summer.

Chau! And see you soon! ^^

\--------

EDIT 11/3/18: So, um, hello?

Okay, so recently by Beta/Best Friend commented this on my story:

**_Hello!_ **

**_I'm the beta for BlushingRojas, and I've been urging her to continue on with this fic, but to no avail._ **

**_U_ _**nfortunately, t** his fic has been abandoned. Sorry!_ **

**_Sincerely,_ **  
**_WishUponAStarr_ **

This was literally a few minutes ago and I felt as if I should clarify. Try as I might, I tried to stick to the initial plot of this story, but eventually, it grew so much that the plot completely changed with some minor similarities. I rewrote this two-times, yet nothing stuck, I outlined and outlined, and finally, for NaNoWriMo I am sticking to a writing schedule of 1k to 1.5k minimum  _per day_ , that isn't to say I won't write more than the minimum, but rather that I should have more than half the first part written by the end of this month,  _hopefully_. That is if nothing jumps in on my life and takes me by surprise.

So in other words, yes, as my Beta/Best-Friend  _WishUponAStarr_ has said, this story is basically abandoned. The "rewrite" isn't much of a rewrite but rather a new story entirely with new characters and settings along with many,  _many_ arcs. I lied about it not being multiple chapters, I will end up being multiple  _long_ chapters.

Originally I planned for it to be around 50k words, it's looking to be longer than that or exactly that, but more than likely it'll be longer.

Notes: Maria-Elena Iglesias is now Rocio Iglesias. 

That's all I'm giving away.

Here's a summary of the new story:

**_Title: Parisian Conclave_ **

_**Even though Katsuki Yuuri never pursued his childhood dream of professional figure skating, it does not, by any means, signify that his rather serendipitous meeting with Victor will never occur. Rather, it means Yuuri will grow into someone else with a new skill set to boot. As it stands, Yuuri’s meeting with Victor is set in stone, and the fates were never picky with how or when the two would meet, rather that they eventually would.** _

_**Starts when Yuuri is young and progresses from there.** _

 


End file.
